Confessions of a Domestic Junkie

In the seven weeks that we’ve lived in our new condo, Dan and I have formally “had people over” (i.e. any hosting that requires some level of effort and/or decorum) eight times already. That’s an average of once, slightly more, per week, and doesn't count the ten straight days of overnight house guests. If you know me even a little bit, then you know this makes me extremely happy. Also, a little bit exhausted.

Having people over, especially for cocktail/dinner parties, is one of my favorite things in life. There was that one time that I had a four-course sit-down dinner in my 400 square foot studio for a dozen friends. And that time last year when my oven died the day before nearly fifteen people from law school were due for dinner. The first, real dinner party I ever hosted was just out college, held at my parents’ house in Redlands: complete with their best china and silver, cloth napkins, martinis, French onion soup, cesar salad and chicken divan. My young friends were impressed but also a little bit like, “Uhhh, dude, are you forty years old?”. My very Southern mother should be so proud.

Now that I have my own place with a real amount a space and lots of “grown-up” stuff (courtesy of extremely generous wedding guests), its extra-fun to entertain and is, embarrassingly, sort of my inner desperate-housewife dream come true. I must emphasize, however, that there was something especially scrappy and energizing about entertaining during my “more poor, less stuff” phase. I had to pull a lot together from a little and it was meaningful and rustic in away that I’ll, hand-to-heart, sort of miss in my shiny, new condo, using my state of the art Kitchen-Aid mixer. In short: stuff does not make the hostess. But that stuff does help make the hostess’ life a little more relaxed and refined.

With all that said, tomorrow’s hosting extravaganza is the one I have, of late, been looking forward to the most. A fantastic collection of Dan’s cousins (first, second, significant others and spawn) are coming over Saturday night for a good old-fashioned, New England lobster dinner; including crab-cake appetizer, boiled and grilled lobsters, corn on the cob, fruit salad and to drink: my all-time favorite, mojitos (to be made with crushed mint grown in my very own herb garden, my black-thumb damned).

Dan (the Boston native) is in charge of the lobsters, and my coup-de-grace will be these crab cakes. I’ve made them just once before and they’re not for the novice chef, myself being only barely intermediate. The last go-around turned out decidedly “just okay”, a smidge on the mushy-side. Ever since I’ve been wanting an opportunity to try them again and work on crisping them up and popping the flavor. Being able to make a phenomenal from-scratch crab cake is, for some odd reason, a goal in my life. Odd because I rather detest crab. But since moving East, I have slowing warmed up to the crab-cake. Let's face it, anything put into breading and fried is, truly, a friend of mine. Dan has born witness to me ingesting clams (ick!), once breaded, fried and submersed in an ocean of ketchup. I’d eat damn near anything under such circumstances.

Furthermore, I am not the biggest lobster fan either (or any seafood, for that matter). I'd never eaten lobster in my life until two years ago at my now-in-law’s house and I was … underwhelmed. Didn’t initiate my gag reflex, but I was unable to understand what all the fuss was about. I’d rather spend the same money on a juicy steak any day. But, for me as a new Bostonian, its all about the spirit of the lobster - i.e. the culture and mystique that surrounds crustaceans, as a unique, local trade. The cultural significance and influence is something I can appreciate. Our dog has little lobsters on his harness, for crying out loud.

For the curious and non-native New Englanders, check back later this weekend as I’ll try to post a photo montage of the whole lobster shebang. I’ll also post results of the slated race between Flutie, Nolan and a lobster. My money goes to the lobster - the dog and baby will be too easily distracted and the lobster has claws and isn't afraid to play dirty.